The Hammer and The Wolf
by Rom-5-8
Summary: Season 8 adventures of the bastard blacksmith and the hundred-pound ninja assassin. Begins a few weeks after the parley in Kings Landing, and a few days before the Wall is breached at Eastwatch. Gendry and Arya pairing beginning in Chapter 3, but this story is also about family and heavily features all members of House Stark. Also, lotsa Brienne, Podrick, & Team Dany. 25 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The early-morning chill had begun to recede, the castle yard buzzing with activity, as Podrick stood dutifully beside the lady and braced himself for the humiliation to come. Apparently, he'd be waiting a while for the drubbing to be administered on this day.

Lady Brienne was taking her time this morning. Already, she'd polished her sword to a blinding shine, then begun lazily stretching her overlong limbs.

Now she was yawning absently while watching the castle residents scurry about in their daily routines. The weeks-long journey on horseback back from Kings Landing had taken a toll on them both, it seemed.

Dead tired and famished, they'd arrived back at the castle only the evening before. They'd destroyed a half dozen chickens between them, then collapsed into the welcome comfort of their feather beds. Pod had slept like the dead a good ten hours, only waking when Lady Brienne had come pounding on his chamber door a full hour after dawn.

Scanning the castle yard in a way he imagined looked casual, the young squire stamped his feet and blew into his cupped hands, a morning ritual he'd adopted since first arriving at Winterfell.

The North had grown on him - _recently_ it had grown on him anyway. But as a Westerlands man, he was certain he'd never get used to the pervasive chill.

"Shall we train with swords today?"

Podrick looked up at the sound of Lady Brienne's voice. She'd straightened up to full height and now loomed over him. Pulling freshly polished Oathkeeper from its sheath, the lady looked down at her squire expectantly.

"Does it matter, my lady?" Pod replied with an audible sigh, reaching for his steel. There was a hint of dejection in his voice.

"Don't pout, Podrick. It doesn't become you."

Podrick straightened up and faced the lady, attempting to look formidable. He wouldn't lose heart, he vowed silently, even if she bested him 30 days out of 30. Which was about how he could expect these training sessions to go.

"Yes, my Lady," he replied with resolve.

Squaring up before Lady Brienne, the young squire was flipping through his memory bank of maneuvers - grasping for anything that for once might surprise the lady - when out of the corner of his eye he spotted the person he'd been scanning the yard for minutes earlier.

On the edge of his peripheral vision, a slight figure in dark-colored leathers was making her way swiftly across the yard.

His training forgotten, Podrick jerked his head around and called out in her direction.

"Lady Arya!"

Her name had barely escaped his lips when the familiar sensation of a very large boot making contact with his chest sent Pod flying unceremoniously onto his backside. He skidded several feet into a diffuse pile of hay. Scrambling to his feet, Podrick glanced over his shoulder and tried to catch his breath.

The dark-haired figure was still moving away. If she'd heard him she wasn't letting on.

"Pay attention, Pod!" Lady Brienne scolded, a hint of amusement in her voice. "And to _me,_ " she added pointedly.

Podrick ignored her.

"Lady Arya!" he called out again across the yard, unfazed.

Before the boot of shame could descend upon him again, the squire dropped his sword and scampered after the girl who'd now stopped moving and turned around to face him.

"What have I told you about dropping your weapon in the dirt, Podrick!" Lady Brienne boomed from behind him, her amusement long gone.

Ahead of him, he could see the girl taking all of this in with mild amusement as Podrick raced up to her. He stopped dead in his tracks about five feet short of her, suddenly feeling foolish.

"Lady Arya?" he said for a third time. He could feel his cheeks going red and hoped the cold would quickly dispel the heat he could detect coming off of his face.

"Just Arya is fine," the girl replied rather pleasantly.

Pod exhaled and smiled at her, feeling relieved. "Yes, my lady .. I mean .." he hesitated.

Lady Arya smiled. "It's fine." She looked at him expectantly.

Pod composed himself. He'd been wanting to speak to the younger Stark girl since shortly after she'd arrived at the castle. Only recently had he worked up the nerve to do so.

"You sparred with Lady Brienne here in the yard. After you came home to Winterfell," Podrick said to her, stating the obvious.

"I did," Arya affirmed.

"You were- It was- _impressive_ ," Podrick said with a sizable grin.

"Thanks."

The girl was looking at him with a detached cordiality.

"She's training me to fight. Lady Brienne."

"I've noticed. That's wonderful."

"It is.. She's been training me for months and months, years maybe." Podrick paused. He hadn't realized it had been that long they'd been training together. "But when we fight-" he continued.

".. Well, she destroys me is usually what happens."

Podrick resisted the urge to hang his head and tried not to look as discouraged as he felt.

"She's good," the girl across from him observed, looking faintly amused by his admission.

"She is. But you..You're half her size. Yet when you sparred with her-"

"There are ways to compensate for a size disadvantage."

"See, _that_..that's what I was hoping!" Podrick felt relief wash through him. _There's hope_.

"I'm on the shorter side like you," he continued. "So I was thinking. I was hoping. I was wondering-" The young squire could feel the hot blush returning to his face as he stammered at her.

"You'd like me to spar with you and give you some tips," Lady Arya finished for him mercifully.

"Yes! Yes! If it wouldn't be too much trouble..uh..Arya."

The girl looked him over appraisingly. Podrick tried not to squirm under her gaze and willed the remainder of his blush away.

"Are you free after breakfast tomorrow?" she asked him finally.

"I am!.. I can be anyway."

The girl nodded. "We'll meet out here then."

"That's..that's wonderful! Thank you so much, Arya."

She nodded, smiling at him now. "It's Podrick, right?"

"Yes! Podrick Payne. Uh, Pod."

Arya's dark eyes narrowed. Her smile disappeared.

"Any relation to Ilyn Payne?" she asked coolly.

Podrick hung his head. He'd had a feeling this conversation was coming from the moment he'd first landed at Winterfell. He hoped he was ready for it.

"My cousin, unfortunately," he confessed to his shoes. "He's a _distant_ cousin," he added.

"Your cousin 'unfortunately'?"

"My father used to say he'd become a disgrace to the family name, Ser Ilyn."

Podrick looked up at the petite unsmiling girl, an earnestness in his face.

"After what he did to your Lord father, my lady, a man who was innocent. What he would have done to your sister-"

"My sister?"

Arya had stepped closer to him. Her expression was intense, her dark eyes blazing.

"What about Ser Ilyn and my sister?" she asked.

Podrick paused, dreading her reaction. He spoke slowly, avoiding her eyes. "Ser Ilyn was under orders to.. uh.. kill Lady Sansa if the Battle of the Blackwater ended in defeat."

Across from him, the younger Stark sister listened intently. She was shorter than he was and thin in build, but she looked ferocious.

"I served Lord Tyrion, my lady," Pod said earnestly. "I served Lord Tyrion, and I want you to know that he was _appalled_ by how your sister was treated in Kings Landing. I was appalled, also. He protected her many times, Lord Tyrion did-"

"He protected Sansa from _what_ in Kings Landing?"

Arya had moved another step closer to him. Her tone was demanding.

Pod hesitated, not wishing to cause a girl who'd already suffered so much loss any more pain. But it was clear in her demeanor, this slight dark wolf meant to get an answer.


	2. Chapter 2

The mid-morning sun was doing little to abate the Northern cold, yet Podrick felt warm all over. _And not in a good way_ , he noted to himself wryly. This was not the way he'd hoped his first real conversation with the lady would turn out.

"What happened to my sister in Kings Landing?" Arya asked again.

The cordiality of their earlier interaction was gone. The pleasant young woman who'd agreed to spar with him now looked menacing. Podrick collected himself and decided to take a different tact with the intense girl across from him. He tried to smile.

"Your brother, the Young Wolf," Podrick said respectfully. "He was very talented in battle."

To the squire's amazement, the somber girl standing before him suddenly smiled from ear to ear at the mention of her long-dead brother. Podrick' s mouth nearly dropped open in surprise.

"Yes, I know," she said with pride.

Podrick was momentarily so transfixed by the lady's smile, he failed to continue. Arya looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat.

"When your brother won a victory against the Lannister armies - which as you know happened _very_ often -"

Podrick looked up and right on cue the Young Wolf's little sister smiled. He smiled, too.

"When King Robb won victories.." he continued.

Pod hesitated. This was the hard part.

"King Joffrey would bring your sister into the throne room. He would sit on his throne and point his crossbow at her. He would threaten her. Joffrey would.."

Podrick stopped again. If these details were upsetting to him he knew they must be horrifying to a sister's ears.

Lady Arya was no longer smiling. Her eyes were dark, her expression blank.

"Continue," she said.

"Joffrey would have his men.. strike your sister. And.. uh.. rip her gown." Pod's cheeks heated up, but he pressed on.

"Once Joffrey might have let his men.. do worse. But Lord Tyrion stopped Joffrey! He protected her many times, Lord Tyrion."

"What are their names?" Arya interjected suddenly. The squire was surprised by how even her voice sounded.

"Who?"

"The men who struck my sister. And ripped her clothes. And would have done worse.. What are their names?"

Podrick shook his head. "I wouldn't know, my lady. I heard about it second hand."

Arya leaned in toward him, almost conspiratorially. Her face was ghostly white, her eyes dark.

"Did the Hound strike my sister? ... Sandor Clegane?"

She didn't look terribly friendly, but Podrick didn't back away.

"I don't believe so, my lady," he replied. "In fact I heard the Hound rescued your sister once. From some men who were going to.." The squire's voice trailed off.

Arya leaned back and seemed to nod slightly.

Podrick took a half a step closer to her. _It's now or never_ , he told himself. He'd been planning on saying something like this for weeks.

"Lady Arya, on behalf of my family, I want to apologize to you for the evil my cousin did to your Lord father, an innocent man. And for the evil he would have done to your sister, Lady Sansa."

The squire again moved closer. "I want to assure you that not all Paynes are like my cousin. If you give me a chance, my lady, I will be as faithful to you and your sister as Lady Brienne has sworn to be...If you'll allow me."

Arya was silent for a full minute. She stared into Podrick's eyes as though looking for something. What she was looking for the squire didn't know, but as the seconds passed he felt the blush returning.

Suddenly, she nodded her head slightly and smiled at him. Apparently he'd passed the test. If there was a test.

"Alright then, Pod."

Podrick broke into a wide smile he sensed looked right goofy, but he still couldn't help himself.

"Wonderful. Thank you, my lady."

She nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow then to train?"

"You will! After breakfast! See you then..Arya."

"See you then," the girl repeated looking amused.

She was about to take leave of him, it seemed, and was turning away, when suddenly she faced him again full on.

"Podrick?"

"Yes, my lady?"

There was a vulnerability in her expression suddenly that surprised Pod.

"Do you have any idea when my brother might be home?" she asked him, her tone wistful.

Podrick stared at the young woman briefly. She looked like a teenage girl suddenly, not the seasoned warrior who'd sparred to a draw with Lady Brienne. Who'd reportedly dispatched Lord Baelish.

"Oh..uh..in a day or two maybe?"

Podrick was guessing really, but he wanted to give the absent king's little sister _something._

She didn't seem satisfied with his answer, though, so he elaborated.

"He mentioned in Kings Landing, your brother, that he might check on conditions at some of the Northern castles before coming home. So it shouldn't be much longer."

Arya nodded fractionally, looking lost in thought.

"I'm sure he's anxious to see you," Podrick added, trying to be encouraging.

Finally, the lady's expression brightened. She managed a smile.

"He's conscientious, Jon," she confided.

The squire smiled broadly. "I've noticed that.. It's a fine quality in a King."

"I think so, too."

Arya gave him a friendly but dismissive nod. The vulnerability was gone. "Thanks, Podrick."

"My pleasure, my lady!" She was turning away, so he spun around too, still smiling.

He'd barely taken three steps forward when suddenly over six feet of lady knight blocked his path. Looming over him, Lady Brienne grinned down at her squire, looking amused by something.

"Podrick" she said flatly.

"My lady?"

She was attempting to look menacing, but the big lady's ear-to-ear grin belied her.

"Podrick," Lady Brienne said again, smirking at him.

"Yes, my lady?"

"You realize I _will_ have to kill you if you hurt Lady Arya."

Podrick frowned at her. "Hurt her? I doubt I'll get my steel anywhere near her!"

He brushed past the lady.

"That's not the sword I'm concerned about!" she boomed after him.

~/~

A wisp of conversation from the balcony above caught Arya's attention as she turned from Podrick and moved across the castle yard in her original direction, her thoughts full of her absent brother.

"We need to determine how long the meat we're collecting can be expected to keep."

"Very wise, my lady."

On the edge of Arya's peripheral vision, the tall elegant figure on the balcony walkway stopped moving. Sensing eyes upon her, the little wolf looked up. Meeting her sister's gaze directly, Arya smiled at the Lady of Winterfell.

 _I have a lot to make up for._

Sansa gave a slight nod and smiled back, then began moving along the balcony again, resuming her conversation with the Maester, something to do with the finer points of salting venison, it seemed. The castle was in capable hands.

Arya moved across the yard again, emotion rising in her suddenly.

 _She went and turned into Mother while I was away._

Tears welled in her eyes at her next thought, but she didn't give in to them.

 _Father would be proud of her._

Arya left the castle yard smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon exhaled slowly as the gates of Winterfell creaked open thirty yards ahead of him, the tension in his body dissipating, and the tension in his mind. The bone-weary King in the North slumped contentedly on his mount and continued to plod forward. _Just a little further now_.

He'd been holding that breath in one way or another for months now. Since that snowy morning he'd ridden south with Davos, leaving the castle, the North, his _kingdom_ in his sister's capable hands.

Then days had turned to weeks and weeks to months as Jon had struggled with balancing the competing loyalties raging around him, and within him.

Serving the North had meant mining obsidian at Dragonstone, then risking his neck to capture a wight, then traveling south again for a Kings Landing parley. And all while his heart had yearned only for home.

That yearning had become unbearable since a raven from Winterfell months ago had restored to Jon what he'd been certain was lost to him forever.

Jon whispered their names again as the castle yard began to come into his view. Repeating those sweet names had become something of a prayer for him in the weeks since he'd first received that raven from home.

His heart fluttered within him. He'd be seeing them both so soon.

"How goes it there, Your Grace?"

The grey-haired man on horseback to Jon's immediate left had spoken suddenly, rousing the King from his daydreaming. He shot a glance sideways at his friend, making note of his expression. The older man was smiling, the hint of a twinkle in his eyes.

"How goes it there with _you_ , Ser Davos?" Jon replied.

"Oh, fine, fine. Just couldn't help but notice that you look a bit wobbly on your steed there, Sire."

"Do I?"

"Wouldn't want to fall on your noggin so close to home and break the little Lord and Lady's hearts, would you now? They've been waiting so long for your return."

Jon chuckled. "No, I suppose I wouldn't," he replied, righting himself in his saddle and siting up straight.

"Better?" he asked the old smuggler.

"That's more like it."

"I'm glad you approve."

The two rode on in an amiable silence, the castle looming large ahead of them.

As Jon plodded forward, visions of Daenerys lying in his arms suddenly swam before his eyes. Red faced, he pushed the memories away. _Not the time to be thinking about all that_.

The King in the North smiled.

To make matters even more complicated, he acknowledged to himself, his heart now yearned in a whole new direction. And his new love was a powerful ally to have.

Daenerys had accompanied him to several of the castles closest to the Wall following their arrival in the North - a show of solidarity that had gone as well as Jon could have hoped for given the circumstances.

Northerners were clannish and suspicious by nature. Of the Mad King's daughter they were triply wary, not that their King could blame them. But Dany's calm rationality and natural grace had won them over by degrees. Most persuasive had been her promise to fight the wights alongside them, with _two dragons in tow_ no less.

For now their strategy of journeying North together appeared to be working.

A raven from Dragonstone had sent the Khaleesi south again by boat several days earlier, but she'd be rejoining him at Winterfell soon, she'd promised.

Jon suspected her departure was about giving him space and privacy for his return home, but he hadn't protested. He'd prefer to make his case to Sansa privately - before producing the woman he'd bent the knee to without the approval of the Lords of the North, without consulting his sister, the trueborn Lady of Winterfell.

Keeping his attention straight ahead, Jon continued to plod forward, preparing himself for the reunions to come.

"What goes with your blacksmith?" Davos asked suddenly.

"He's _your_ blacksmith" Jon replied wryly, looking over at his friend.

"True," Davos replied smiling, his eyes fixed forward. Jon followed his gaze.

Twenty yards ahead of them, Gendry had dismounted and stopped dead in his tracks, Jon noticed, looking thunderstruck.

They'd encountered the young man two days earlier on the road to the castle, a freshly cast war hammer strapped across his back.

Davos had instructed the lad to make his way to the smithy at Winterfell once recovered from the raid above the Wall. Forging the dragon glass weapons could begin immediately, just as soon as the obsidian was unloaded.

Well ahead of them, Gendry stood frozen in place and appeared to be staring through the open gate at a slender dark-haired girl wearing leathers. The King looked on curiously.

Suddenly, recognition dawned, and Jon's heart leapt within him, his eyes filling with tears as he studied the girl.

"That's my sister," he murmured, feeling happy and a little dazed.

"Is she?" replied Davos with a huge smile. Following the King's gaze, the older man turned to beam in the direction of the young woman.

 _She's still so skinny_ , Jon observed, smiling through his tears.

But she was taller than he remembered. And more filled out. She had curves even.

 _A woman_ , her brother realized with a degree of astonishment. _Nearly_ a woman anyway.

Jon continued to study his youngest sister lovingly as he closed the distance remaining to the entrance of the castle yard. She hadn't noticed him yet, and he anticipated the moment when she would look up at him.

But her attention was clearly elsewhere, he noticed. She was standing ramrod straight as though rooted in place and seemed to be staring at... _Gendry?_ Jon's brow wrinkled in confusion.

He was about to call out to her when to his astonishment Arya flew at the young smithy and launched herself into his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon's mind was going sideways. He attempted to process the scene that was unfolding twenty feet ahead of him just inside the castle yard.

The strong young blacksmith, his newfound friend, was wrapping his muscular arms around Jon's little sister's slim body.

And Arya wasn't resisting him either. Throwing her arms around his neck, she embraced him warmly, her face buried into the curve of his neck. Gendry held her close as they stood together, her body flush against his taut chest.

The King in the North saw red.

As Davos looked on in surprise, Jon swung off his mount and covered the twenty feet separating him from the embracing pair in a matter of seconds.

"Did you come here looking for me?"

"I thought you were dead."

"I thought _you_ were!"

"Hey!" Jon exclaimed as he raced up to them, grabbing Gendry's shoulder and spinning the young man around to face him.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew my sister?" he demanded, inches from the blacksmith's face.

"I-I-" Gendry sputtered, shocked by the interruption.

"Jon!" Arya exclaimed.

Over Gendry's shoulder, Jon could see his little sister staring at him, a mixture of delight and confusion in her face. His heart clenched for her, but he needed an explanation.

"You _knew_ who I was," Jon said to Gendry. "So why didn't you tell me you knew Arya?"

"I-I-"

"Did you touch her?" he demanded before Gendry could answer him. It had been his immediate suspicion when he'd seen them embracing. Not since he'd confronted Baelish in the Tombs had Jon felt such anger.

"What? .. No!" Gendry protested, his face turning bright red.

"Jon, stop it!"

Thin arms encircled his waist from behind, and Jon felt his sister jerk him backward nearly a foot. _When did she get so strong?_ He realized suddenly that he'd nearly been on top of Gendry.

"I was her friend!" the red-faced young man insisted, looking horrified by the accusation. Feeling a pang of regret, Jon wondered briefly if he'd gotten this wrong.

The King in the North disentangled himself from his little sister's grasp and tried to compose himself.

"Then why didn't you tell me that?" Jon said almost evenly. "That you were Arya's friend?"

His sister seemed curious about that as well, coming around from behind her brother to stand at Gendry's side. Jon tried to smile at her, but she looked away.

"Because I was ashamed all right," Gendry replied.

"What?" Arya interjected, looking confused.

"What did you have to be ashamed about?" Jon asked, feeling his anger flare again.

Gendry avoided his eyes as he spoke. "I thought she was dead, and I felt responsible."

Arya pivoted to face the blacksmith, looking annoyed. "That's ridiculous. Why would you feel responsible?"

Jon smiled despite himself. He'd been on the receiving end of his little sister's annoyance more than once.

Gendry looked at her squarely. "I should've looked out for you after Yoren got killed. Made sure you stayed alive at least. You were just a _kid_ out there."

Arya's expression seemed to soften perceptibility at his response.

"Yoren?" Jon interjected, his interest piqued at the mention of a familiar name. _The wandering crow. Uncle Benjen's friend_.

"He took me north from Kings Landing after Father was killed," Arya said matter of factly, still looking at Gendry.

Jon nodded thoughtfully. _At least she wasn't alone out there_.

"But why would you think I was dead?" Arya asked Gendry, sounding more civil.

"The last time I saw you you were on your way to your brother. You would have been with him in time for- " The smithy's voice trailed off. The specter of the Red Wedding hung in the air.

"In Kings Landing, they were saying all the Starks were dead, except the one that was to marry the king," Gendry added after a respectful pause.

"But none of that was _your_ fault," Arya said earnestly.

They were facing each other now, speaking intently, and Jon watched them curiously. It occurred to him that he was now listening in on a two-way conversation.

"You asked me to go with you to meet up with your brother, Robb." Gendry replied. "Instead like a moron I threw in with those bastards who sold me to a witch."

"I know that," Arya said impatiently, irritation and _something else_ flashing in her eyes.

She looked _hurt,_ Jon realized, feeling mystified.

Gendry wasn't cowed by her temper. He stepped in close to her and spoke plainly.

"If I'd gone with you to meet up with your family maybe you wouldn't have been dead, too."

Arya raised an eyebrow skeptically, but Gendry continued.

"I didn't protect you. Like you protected me from the goldcloaks on the Kingsroad. That's what I felt ashamed about."

Arya stared at the smithy for a long moment, an expression on her face Jon had never seen before and couldn't identify.

"All that would have happened if we'd made it to my brother is we both would've been dead, too," she said finally.

Gendry shrugged slightly. "Maybe so," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He turned to face Jon and spoke earnestly.

"I never hurt your sister, your grace. I never touched her, I swear it."

Jon glanced sideways at his sister, who was looking determinedly away, her face going red.

"I cared about her, alright," Gendry added.

Jon nodded slightly. Whatever had happened between the two of them on the Kingsroad, he sensed it hadn't been sexual.

 _Not yet,_ he thought despite himself. He frowned and pushed the thought away.

"Gendry -" he began.

"It's fine," the smithy interjected before Jon could continue.

"It isn't fine."

"It is, your grace," Gendry replied emphatically, nodding. "I understand, I do. If I had a sister I'd be the same way."

Jon smiled at him and nodded slightly himself. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The King was about to turn his attention to his little sister when she was in his field of vision suddenly, startling him.

"You might want to talk to _me_ first before you start harassing a friend of mine," she scolded.

"You're right," Jon replied.

"I'm not a little girl any more. I can look after myself."

"I can see that," her brother said smiling down at her.

Despite herself, Arya smiled back at him. As the two stood gazing at each other and the seconds passed, the years apart fell away.

Like that child he remembered, Arya suddenly launched herself into her brother's arms. Jon caught her and held her tight, smiling broadly as he lifted her off of her feet.

"Little wolf," he whispered as he stroked her dark hair and kissed the side of her head.

Over Arya's shoulder, Gendry and Davos exchanged a smile, then moved discreetly in the direction of the castle.

"I'm too big to jump on you like that," Arya said almost shyly, as she finally released her brother and slid to the ground.

Jon shook his head. "You're never too big," he said with affection.

Noticing the wolf insignias emblazoned on his breastplate, Arya reached out and touched one lovingly.

"They're like Father's," she said, looking pleased.

"Sansa had it made for me, the breastplate."

"She did a good job," Arya said quietly.

A shadow fell over his sister's expression, and Jon noticed it immediately.

"What is it?"

Arya continued to run her fingers over one of the wolf emblems. "I was horrible to her, Sansa, when I got home."

Jon shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"Well you're wrong," she said softly, running her thumb across the wolf head one last time then withdrawing her hand.

Jon shrugged. "So don't be horrible to her," he said simply. The solution seemed obvious to him.

Arya looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "I'm trying."

There was sadness in her eyes, regret in her voice, and Jon wondered what in the world had gone on while he was away.

His sister took a step back, her mood lightening. She looked at her brother appraisingly.

"You look like a King, Jon."

"And _you_ look like a grown-up young lady," Jon said taking her hand and extending her arm so he could get a good look at her.

"Sansa's the Lady of Winterfell," Arya replied, looking slightly embarrassed at being inspected.

"Then you can be our warrior lady," Jon said, noting her choice in apparel.

"I can do that."

"I figured you could."

They smiled at each other.

"So where's the dragon woman?" Arya asked, looking past him hopefully.

"Coming soon."

"Have you seen them, the dragons?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jon nodded dramatically. "Gorgeous beasts."

"We'll see," his sister said skeptically.

"We will see."

Jon reached out and gave an affectionate pat to the hilt of the sword hanging at Arya's waist, a smile spreading over his face. "I see Needle made it through the wars."

"Either we were both coming home, or neither of us were."

"I'm glad it was both then."

They stood grinning at each other for nearly a full minute, until again Arya's expression darkened.

"What is it?" her brother asked, feeling instant concern.

"Jon," Arya replied. "There's something I have to tell you about the wights."


	5. Chapter 5

Arya moved rapidly through the castle corridors, Jon close at her heels, his anticipation growing with each step he took closer to his little brother.

He forced himself to ignore the tension roiling inside of him. Arya had broken the news of the breach in the Wall back in the yard, and it was difficult suddenly to think of anything else.

 _Focus on your brother._ Jon cautioned himself as he walked. _Don't overwhelm him with questions_.

Stopping in front of a heavy wooden closed door, Arya turned to her older brother and spoke in a whisper.

"Wait here. You can surprise him."

Jon nodded.

" _Maybe_ you can surprise him," she muttered to herself, as she turned to the door and pushed it open.

"Bran, I expect you already know this, but-"

"Jon's home."

Standing just outside his brother's chamber, Jon felt his heart jump at the sound of his brother's voice, so much deeper than he remembered, but somehow familiar. A smile spread across his face. _He's a man now_.

Jon peered around the edge of the door into Bran's room, his heart full, an ear-to-ear grin on his face as he caught sight of the lanky young man seated in front of the fire.

Arya stood next to him, smiling back and forth between her two brothers.

"This strapping lad can't possibly be my little brother!" Jon exclaimed as he walked through the door. He felt lit up inside.

Bran smiled and Jon moved to him, reaching down to embrace him tightly. As he felt the young man hugging him back, relief washed through him. Arya had warned him in the castle yard that Bran was _different_ now. Not to expect too much from him.

Finally releasing the boy, Jon took a seat on a stool facing the wheeled chair holding his brother.

"Look at you!" he said taking in the young man's long lines. "I'll bet you're taller than Father now."

"He's _definitely_ taller than you," Arya said drily as she passed an affectionate hand over the top of Bran's head, then moved to the door.

"You're one to talk, shorty," Jon replied as he grinned over his shoulder at his little sister.

She smirked at him. "I'll see you two at supper," she said, moving to exit the room and leave them in privacy.

Bran turned suddenly from staring at Jon to look up at his sister.

"It's good that Gendry's here," he said.

Arya stared at him for just a beat before replying.

"I agree," she said quickly, then abruptly left the room.

"She likes him," Bran said vacantly as he turned to face the fire again.

"Gendry?"

The young man nodded.

"Of course, she likes him," Jon said warily. "He's her friend."

Bran smiled faintly, but said nothing further.

Jon stared at his brother, thrown by how different this strange, somber teenager was from the child he remembered. Other than the dark hair and the familiar features, he could find no traces of the little boy he'd known.

"I need to talk to you, Jon," the boy said suddenly in the same monotone voice he'd spoken in before.

"About Gendry?"

"No."

"About the wights at Eastwatch?"

"No."

Jon waited expectantly.

"About your mother and father," Bran said finally.

Jon stared at his younger brother in confusion. _Is this really the time for that?_

It wasn't that he wasn't curious about his mother, about the circumstances of his conception. There had been a time in his life when he had been consumed with wondering about both.

But there were _wights on the march_ with an _undead dragon_ a mere 600 miles from home.

"Bran, I-"

The door to Brandon's chamber burst open suddenly and Arya rushed in.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a security issue, Jon."

Jon stood up quickly, alarmed by the look on his sister's face. "What is it?"

Before she could answer him Davos raced into the room. "Your Grace, two scouts have just reported there are a dozen men in the wood all heavily armed. And with a catapult in tow."

"Assassins probably," Arya added. "Sent by that bitch, Cersei Lannister."

"Arya!" Jon exclaimed, shocked by his sister's language. He'd never heard her speak so coarsely before.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking away.

"Cersei Lannister has promised to help us fight the wights, Arya," Jon said to her pointedly.

"I'll believe _that_ when I see it," Arya muttered as she moved to bar the small window on the chamber's far wall.

"Whoever they are they're up to no good," Davos interjected, looking concerned. "Skulking in the woods and waiting for dark no doubt."

Suddenly Sansa swept into the room, followed close at her heels by Brienne in full armor, one hand on the hilt of her sword. Three well-armed guards trailed after them.

Jon reached out and clasped his sister's arm affectionally in greeting. She clasped his back, smiling into his eyes.

"We'll get caught up later," Sansa promised him.

Jon nodded. "We will."

As the King turned from his sister, a little boy of 3 or 4 years scurried into the room, a young woman chasing after him.

"Gilly!" Jon exclaimed, surprised by her sudden appearance.

Arya had mentioned in the yard that his old friend from the Nights Watch was now at Winterfell, his family in tow. A familiar figure appeared in the doorway to the chamber.

"Sam," Jon said warmly, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Yes, hello, hello," Sam replied with a massive grin of his own as he entered the room. "Nice to see you, too. We'll speak soon, _your grace_." Sam said that last bit with a slight nod and a huge smile.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I know you will," he replied, still smiling.

"Little Sam's a giant," Jon said. He gently poked the little boy in the belly as his mother held him. The child giggled.

"Hello, Gilly," Jon said to the young woman holding him.

"Your Grace," she replied with a slight head bob.

"Jon!" Arya exclaimed. His little sister was not in a mood for him to be wasting time on pleasantries, it seemed.

"I'm coming," he replied, moving to the door.

"Take this," Arya said to her older sister, holding out a beautifully crafted dagger Jon had never seen before.

"Arya, _you'll_ need that," Sansa replied, shaking her head.

"I have Needle."

"Take the dagger, Arya," Bran said suddenly as he stared into the fire. Startled, Jon looked over at him. It was easy to forget he was even there.

Arya looked quizzically at her younger brother, but he said nothing further. Reluctantly, she returned the dagger to its sheath at her hip.

"We'll be fine," Sansa assured her.

"Podrick and five other guards will be right outside the door, my lady," Brienne said to Arya. "And many more in the castle yard."

Arya hesitated.

"We'll keep them safe," Brienne assured her warmly.

Arya nodded curtly and moved to the doorway as Jon stepped out into the hall.

"Stay here," his little sister instructed the occupants of Brandon's chamber as she reached for the heavy brass door pull. She swung the door halfway closed.

"Bolt the door behind me and don't open it for _anyone_ except Jon or me, got it?" she added sternly.

The King's assorted relatives and friends nodded their agreement, many of them smiling. Davos seemed especially charmed at being ordered around by a waifish teenage girl.

"Whatever you say, my Lady," the onion knight said with a wide smile.

Jon smiled, too. _I wouldn't cross her either_.

Arya closed the door behind her with a resounding thud, and Jon heard the bolt sliding into place. She nodded to herself slightly still facing the door, then turned to face her brother.

"Let's go," she said, leading the way. Jon followed after her.

"Hi, Arya," Podrick said with a big smile as the two of them swept past the well-armed young squire and five other guards stationed outside of their brother's door.

"Hey, Pod," Arya replied, continuing to walk and not looking up at him."Take care of yourself," she called out as she and Jon moved quickly down the hall.

"You, too!" Podrick called after her.

Jon turned back to briefly look at the dark-haired squire who was still smiling after his younger sister. He was a decent enough sort, Brienne's squire. A bit like Gendry.

Turning around to face forward again, Jon looked fondly after the slight leather-clad girl walking swiftly ahead of him. _I'm going to have my hands full with her_.

He quickened his steps to match hers and in no time they were in the castle yard where two dozen additional guards and bannermen awaited them.

"What are you doing?" Jon asked Arya as she strolled rapidly towards the open gate.

"I'm going with you, of course," she replied as though it were obvious.

Jon shook his head vigorously. "You're not. You're staying here in the yard." He eyed the weaponry at her waist. "You can help protect the castle if you like."

"You'll need me out there, Jon."

"Arya-"

"Jon!" she exclaimed, turning to face him. She spoke quickly, her tone dismissive.

"How do you imagine I managed to survive out there all these years? A girl on her own."

Jon looked at her quizzically, not getting her meaning.

"Do you imagine I did that without learning how to kill? Shall I tell you all the people I've killed? Lord Baelish most recently."

Jon's mouth fell open and he gaped at his youngest sister. He swayed in his boots a little and wondered for a moment if he would fall down. He felt numb suddenly, rocked to his core by what she was telling him.

 _What happened to her out there._

There was no time for arguing, though, and something in his sister's expression told him she wouldn't be dissuaded.

"Alright," he said finally. "You can come with us, but you're staying behind me."

"That's not happening," Arya replied, turning again towards the castle gate and walking quickly away.

"Arya!" Jon called after her.

He moved to follow her but was swarmed suddenly by a group of guards seeking his instruction.

"Arya!" he called again, trying to maneuver around the men blocking his path.

Gendry appeared in his view suddenly at the outer edge of the gaggle of armed men, war hammer in hand.

"I'll watch her back, Your Grace," he called to Jon as he slung his weapon across his back.

"Thank you, Gendry!" her brother called back with considerable relief.

The blacksmith nodded slightly, turned, and trotted after Jon's fast-departing sister.


	6. Chapter 6

Gendry loped after the slight dark figure twenty yards ahead of him at as fast a pace as he could manage with a twenty-pound weapon strapped across his back.

She could hear him pounding after her, hear him calling her name, he was certain, but as of yet she hadn't turned around.

"Arya!" he called out again, smirking at her stubbornness.

Ignoring him, she continued to move forward, her gaze fixed on the distant wood it seemed as she trudged through the heavy snow.

Gendry quickened his pace, unfazed by her lack of response. _Two can play at that game._ He grinned. _M'lady._

* * *

~0~

* * *

"Arya!"

The familiar voice sounded out again, closer this time.

 _He must be running flat out_. The idea of that pleased her.

"Arya, wait!"

She slowed her pace slightly but still didn't look back or acknowledge him. Why she didn't look back or acknowledge him, she couldn't say exactly. Instead she kept her focus on the wood still well off in the distance, looking for signs of movement.

They'd be approaching the armed men from behind, from the opposite end of the forest from where they'd been spotted. But it never hurt to be cautious.

" _Lady_ Arya!"

Arya jerked her head around and glared over her shoulder at the figure trotting after her. There was something enormous strapped across his back, but she couldn't make out what it was.

Gendry grinned at her reaction, and continuing to run, began laughing at her openly as he pounded ever closer.

 _He got me_ , Arya acknowledged, frowning slightly as she turned to face forward again. Despite herself, she smiled.

Gendry's heavy footfalls sounded closer and closer, until suddenly he was at her side, matching his pace to hers. Her stomach fluttered briefly at his nearness, but she ignored the sensation and willed the butterflies away.

 _No time for all that. There are assassins in the wood._

"Hey," he said pleasantly.

"Hey," she replied cordially enough, her eyes still fixed on the forest. _Stop being such a damned girl._

"Have a look at this," Gendry said amiably.

In one fluid motion he swung the massive _thing_ from off his back and extended it directly into her view.

Arya gaped at the weapon, her elation and curiosity overwhelming her prior reserve.

"It's fantastic!" she exclaimed as Gendry handed it over, looking pleased by her reaction.

"Thanks!"

"Where'd you get it?"

"Where'd I _get_ it?" he replied, feigning offense.

"You made this?"

"With my own two hands, I made it," he said, extending them.

"It's a war hammer," Arya said as she inspected it.

"I'm aware of that."

"Maester Luwin showed us a picture of one in a book once."

"Probably the same picture I was looking at when I made this one. When I made the first one anyway. The first one got lost, but this one's better." Gendry was as animated as she'd ever seen him as he spoke of the weapon.

"King Robert used a war hammer in battle," Arya said, handing it back to him.

"Yes, I know," Gendry replied with _something_ in his eyes Arya couldn't immediately identify. It looked like.. _pride_? Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Why'd you decide to make a war hammer? I thought you were about the longswords." She smirked at him. "Not that you could use them properly."

"You're a peach," he said sarcastically.

"So?" Arya asked again.

Gendry ran his hand through his short-shorn hair and smiled. "There are a few things I need to tell you after this raid."

"Like what?"

"Like I'll tell you _after_ we've slaughtered these bastards, alright?"

Gendry looked down at her suddenly, his eyes running briefly over her body. Arya blushed deeply as he inspected her, then scolded herself for her reaction.

"Where's your coat?" he asked with concern, swinging the hammer onto his back again.

"It's too bulky to fight in properly. I can't move the way I need to."

Gendry looked down at his own heavy fur. "I hope can. Fight in mine."

Arya stared at his coat for a moment, a smile playing about her lips. She looked up at him and raised a single eyebrow. It was a silent dare.

"Oh, alright," he said, rolling his eyes at her. Loosing the weapon from his back, he then shrugged off his fur.

"You sure about that?" Arya asked, watching the heavy coat fall into the snow.

"No," he said gruffly, strapping the war hammer to his back again. As they moved closer to the wood, the fur remained behind, discarded in an unceremonious heap in the snow.

"If the arrows don't get us, let's hope the cold doesn't," Gendry said, shivering slightly and sounding grumpy.

Arya smiled broadly as they trudged forward side by side.

 _I've missed this._

It was confusing to see him again, odd to feel that nervous excitement again, just as she'd experienced around him when she was barely more than a child.

She'd been so single minded in focus in the years since. So adept at managing her emotions, at dulling and containing them.

 _Not that that was a good thing._

In recent weeks, she'd watched, doubted, suspected her own sister, interrogated and berated Sansa as though she were an enemy, even casually threatened her, her own blood.

 _I wouldn't have hurt her,_ she'd told herself many times since.

She wished she could completely believe it.

The truth was with the benefit of hindsight, Arya felt deeply shocked by her own behavior, even a little frightened by it.

If her own family might not be safe from her, who ever could be?

"Look sharp, you two!"

The sound of Jon's voice ringing out from ten yards behind them startled Arya, wrenching her from her thoughts.

She turned to face her brother as he ran up to them, a half dozen heavily armed men following after him. Visible in the distance, another six or eight men were moving from the castle to join them.

"There's an enemy nearby!" Jon exclaimed as he reached them, looking annoyed. "This isn't the time for a pleasant chat while traipsing through the snow!" he added sharply.

"I know that," Arya replied defensively, her cheeks heating up.

Behind Jon, several of the armed guards standing nearby elbowed each other, looking amused.

Arya glared at the men. _I could kill ten of you fools so easily._

"You're right, Your Grace," Gendry said to her brother. "I was just showing your sister my weapon."

"It's a fine weapon, Gendry, so let's get to using it."

"Absolutely, sire."

Embarrassed, Arya turned from her brother to scan the forest again. It wasn't like her to lose her focus, not with an enemy nearby.


	7. Chapter 7

"We're going on raids led by little girls now?"

"If they're sister to the king, we are."

Arya could hear the two middle-aged sentries whinging away behind her, but she didn't turn around. Instead, crouched low to the ground, she continued to pick carefully through the dense forest, Gendry and the two cranky armed guards trailing after her.

"It'll be Lady Sansa prancing around out here next."

"That'd be a sight."

Arya smirked, but kept her attention fixed firmly ahead, continuing to move. _Keep talking, fools. I'm the best chance you have of getting out of here alive._

On the opposite edge of the forest, Jon and his party were making their advance towards the assassins simultaneously, as a third group approached them up the middle. A fourth would head off the enemy if they attempted to escape the wood.

"That big knight lady is one thing. But I've got a twelve-year-old boy what's bigger than this girl!"

Behind Arya, Gendry made an exasperated sound. Arya looked over her shoulder in time to see him turn to face the two men, his expression sour.

"Got a problem there, sonny?" the thinner of the two guards asked, eyeing Gendry's war hammer.

"I do, actually."

"Really?" the second man said sarcastically. "How so?"

Gendry moved closer to the two guards until he was nearly nose to nose with the larger of the pair.

"Why don't you two quit gossiping like a couple of old hens and look sharp if you know what's good for you."

The older man again eyeballed Gendry's weapon, then exchanged a look with his friend.

"Alright, alright," he said.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Gendry turned from the men, and Arya caught his eye and smiled at him. He smiled back.

"M'lady," he said with an exaggerated bob of the head.

Arya rolled her eyes at him and turning around, began to advance again through the thick dark wood, reminding herself to keep her eyes peeled and her mind focused. A pair of now-familiar voices wafted her way, their tones slightly more hushed than before.

"Now we're taking orders from this boy, too?"

"Reckon so."

"What's his name again?"

"No idea."

A flicker of movement about thirty feet ahead of Arya caught her attention suddenly. She stopped dead in her tracks, Gendry and the two sentries piling up behind her.

Turning to the men to her rear, Arya silently placed a finger over her lips. All three nodded vigorously in understanding.

Arya peered into the forest again, her eyes fixed on the dense patch in the distance where she was certain she'd detected movement. A minute passed. Then another.

She was beginning to wonder if she was imagining things, beginning to fear the two morons behind her might start talking again, when suddenly _there_ it was again, a glimmer of movement. Something or someone was definitely out there.

Arya turned to her three companions and gestured for them to get down. The four of them squatted close together half a foot above the damp, leaf-strewn ground. She spoke in a whisper.

"I'll creep forward and see what's up there. You three wait here," she instructed, immediately turning to leave them.

" _Or_ ," Gendry interjected, reaching out and grabbing Arya's arm before she could get away. He kept firm hold of her as he spoke.

"You creep forward, and the three of us will flank you on either side. We can surround the threat and back you up if you get in trouble."

Arya crouched over the moist earth and considered Gendry's suggestion, not completely minding the feel of his strong hand clasped firmly on her arm.

"It might just be a stag moving around out there," she said.

"It might. Or it might be six armed men. Or ten armed men. What if they see you?"

"They won't see me."

"You'd better hope not. You're going to take them on all by yourself?"

Arya hesitated. She was so accustomed to operating on her own she hadn't considered how useful having back up might be.

"Your plan's better," she said finally. "We'll do it."

Looking relieved, Gendry smiled broadly and released her arm, turning immediately to the two sentries. He spoke quickly, his voice low.

"You two boys sweep wide left and come around from that side. Arya will go straight forward. I'll flank her from the right."

Both guards nodded. "Got it," the stout guard said, looking substantially more impressed with the young man than he had been not five minutes earlier.

Arya couldn't help but share his opinion. _It's a solid plan_ , she thought, looking at her old friend with a renewed admiration.

Keeping low to the ground, the two sentries began moving silently to the left as Arya turned to Gendry.

"Be careful," he said to her earnestly before she had a chance to speak. There was concern in his face he made no effort to hide.

"You too," she replied, reaching out and squeezing his hand lightly before she could stop herself. _I_ _just got you back_.

They smiled into each other's eyes for a few seconds, something warm and pleasant washing through Arya's body.

Then Gendry turned and began to pick his way carefully through the underbrush. Arya faced forward, focusing again on the task at hand. With one last look at her departing friend, she stealthily moved forward.


	8. Chapter 8

"Too easy," Arya muttered, her voice heavy with contempt as she kicked the dead man's sword away with the tip of her snow-soaked boot.

Her second kill of the day had been as quick and unsatisfying as the first, and the first had been a damned _disgrace_.

She'd come upon the man minutes earlier, half drunk and relieving himself against a tree. Turning unsteadily, he'd cursed her when she'd inquired what he was doing on Stark lands, then fumbled for his sword. It had all been over before the man could even fasten up his breeches.

The lack of challenge frustrated her. The Lannisters could surely afford better killers than _these_.

Arya stared into the open eyes of her latest kill as snow began to lightly fall in the dense forest.

There was an expression of surprise on the dead man's face now frozen there for all time. Carefully, his killer pulled her sword from his lifeless body.

 _That's what you get for underestimating me._

Leaning over, Arya impaled a knee-high snow drift with her sword's full length, then slowly withdrew the blade, freshly scrubbed of the dead man's blood. She was straightening up again when footfalls in the fresh snow sounded out behind her. Nimble as a cat, Arya whirled where she stood, her weapon extended.

Not ten feet away, a shabby-looking fellow with impressively bad teeth stood leering at her.

The man was unremarkable in every way except for his weapon, a castle-forged beauty Arya's eyes immediately lit upon. A smithy of her acquaintance would've been highly impressed by it.

"Get lost on your way to sewing circle, girl?" the man asked snidely, his thin lips curling into an odd smile.

"I didn't actually," she replied coolly. Her eyes moved from the man's sword to his plain, angular face.

Taking a step forward, the shabby fellow looked Arya up and down in a way they made her want to kill him slowly.

"That's a cute little sword you've got there," he said, grinning at her.

"Thanks."

He raised his weapon.

"Maybe I'll keep that sword after I take what's between your legs, girl, then kill you with your own blade."

Arya felt warm suddenly, flush with anticipation of the kill to come. _Maybe this one can fight_.

"Come get it," she dared him.

The man lunged forward, blade in hand, grinning at her oddly as he did.

Arya leapt backwards fluidly, out of his sword's reach, then feinted left. He followed her motion and promptly paid a heavy price for his mistake.

"Arghhhhh!" the man sputtered as her sword's thin blade pierced his right side halfway up to its hilt.

"You little bitch!" he screamed, flailing at her wildly with his heavy sword. Arya leapt backwards, pulling Needle along with her.

Loosed from her blade, the shabby fellow lunged at her again, his eyes full of rage. This time she ducked out of the way of his steel, then drove Needle's full length through his torso just under his rib cage. The man let out an unearthly scream, then began gasping for breath as blood started filling his lungs.

Arya kicked the weapon from his hand and stepped to him, leaning in until she was inches from his constricted face.

"How about I take off what's between _your_ legs and shove it down your throat? How would that be?"

Reaching for her dagger, Arya brought its sheathed tip up flush with the assassin's crotch. The dying man emitted a single plaintive whimper.

"Probably not worth my time," she said with a smirk, moving the weapon away from the man's genitals.

Releasing the hilt of her sword, Arya pulled the dagger from its sheath and sliced the man's neck open from ear to ear in one fluid motion. It was the same maneuver she'd used in the Great Hall when dispatching Littlefinger.

The mortally wounded man gurgled and clutched at his neck, then dropped into a heap on the blood-spattered snow.

Grinning with satisfaction - _this kill was better_ \- Arya was about to pull her sword from the man's limp body when a familiar voice rang out behind her.

"Arya!"

That voice was thick with panic.

Arya released the hilt of her sword and pivoted quickly in response to the urgent tone in Gendry's voice.

Standing barely six feet away from her, a fierce-looking man raised his weapon and crept towards her as Gendry burst out of the underbrush behind him, hammer raised. Before the man could strike, the smith swung his weapon down forcefully onto the man's head.

Again and again, the hammer descended as Gendry ferociously attacked the man, concentrating on his skull.

Arya stood rooted in place, transfixed by the scene unfolding before her eyes, her breathing shallow. By degrees the man's head was reduced to a mass of blood and pulp and skull.

Gendry finally relented, his clothing covered with the man's blood, his breathing heavy.

"Think he's dead?" he asked her wryly, running his sleeve across his sweat-soaked forehead.

Arya could only nod, feeling dazed by what she'd just been witness to. _I liked watching him do that_

A realization rocked through her as she stood staring at her friend. Reveling in her kill, her back turned, she hadn't noticed the man, his weapon raised and within striking distance.

 _I should've been dead_.

Her eyes flickered up to Gendry's face. "I owe you," she said quietly.

He shook his head vigorously. His eyes were kind.

"No, you don't. Remember Lommy?"

Arya nodded vacantly; It felt like a lifetime ago, those days on the Kingsroad.

"Thanks then," she said to him.

"My pleasure," he replied with a slight nod "... m'lady," he added with a grin. She smiled at him, feeling a bit less shaky.

"Did you see that, Wendell! The little lady's positively a menace!"

One of the two guards in their party came barreling out of the woods, followed close at his heels by his thinner companion.

"That was a glorious kill, m'lady! Glorious!" the big man boomed at Arya as he reached them, grinning from ear to ear.

"And you weren't half bad either, sonny," the skinnier guard chimed in, bobbing his head towards Gendry, who nodded back at him.

"Thanks, but I'd be dead if it weren't for Gendry here," Arya said to the larger man, turning to smile at her friend.

"We all did our bit," Gendry replied, looking a little embarrassed by her praise. He grinned at the two older men. "I saw you boys get one!"

"Took him down like an old granny, didn't we, Wendell? Got him right in the liver and the eyeball!"

"He won't be creeping up on our King again," his friend added.

"He won't," Gendry agreed nodding.

"Arya!"

Arya's head whipped around at the sound of her brother's voice, relief washing through her.

"Jon!"

His fur spattered with blood, her brother raced across an adjacent clearing towards her, looking frantic but relieved.


	9. Chapter 9

Arya shivered lightly in the failing light as she trudged wearily after her brother towards the castle, Gendry shuffling along at her side while a gaggle of Stark fighters trailed behind them. Burying the thirteen dead would wait until first light in the morning.

In the rush of the hunt, the thrill of the kills, she hadn't noticed the advancing cold, but now it overwhelmed her, settling over her like an icy shroud.

A dark-colored fur fell heavily over her shoulders suddenly, dwarfing her small frame and encasing her in softness and a welcome warmth.

Arya glanced sideways, a single eyebrow raised. Next to her, Gendry looked away, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"Gendry-" she began.

"For once, could you not argue with me, please? I did save your life today," he said pointedly, turning to face her.

She was too weary to fight with him, too reluctant to part with the fur if truth be told, so instead she merely nodded.

"Thanks," she said with a grateful smile. He nodded slightly, looking relieved she wasn't up to an argument.

As she turned towards the castle again, the wind ruffled the edges of Gendry's coat and Arya felt her stomach flip over. Though damp from sitting for hours on the snow, the soft warm fur was full of a familiar scent, _his_ scent.

She glanced over at him to insure he wasn't looking at her, then lowered her face into the depths of the fur and inhaled deeply. Memories of Gendry and the road flooded back to her, and with them, a storm of emotions she wasn't prepared for.

She stumbled slightly under the weight of it, and Gendry's strong hand was at her elbow suddenly, steadying her.

Weariness was overtaking her, a deep exhaustion born of physical exertion and the emotional heft of the day.

As the castle drew near, Arya's legs went weak and she stumbled again. Gendry extended his arm across her back and around her thin shoulders, pulling her flush to his side and steadying her against his body as they continued to walk. She didn't resist him.

"It's been a big day," he said softly as she slumped against him unsteadily.

Still moving, Arya stared at her brother's strong back and dark curls as he strode purposely towards the castle ten feet ahead of them.

She thought of the brother and sister, safe and now grown, awaiting them back at the castle.

She leaned heavily against her recovered best friend and inhaled his sweet scent as they moved forward together.

Tears blurred her eyes when a feeling she hadn't experienced since her Winterfell childhood overwhelmed her as she trudged through the snow in the near darkness.

 _Thankful_

She stifled a sob, tears overspilling her eyes.

 _I feel thankful_

* * *

~0~

* * *

It was two hours past dawn, the early-morning sunlight still hazy and diffuse in the white-grey Northern sky, yet already Jon felt tired. His breakfast half eaten and long gone cold, he pushed back from the heavy table in the Great Hall and rose slowly to his feet.

He'd arrived home only yesterday, yet the problems had come thick and fast ever since. His sleep had been troubled, fitful.

The reality of the breach at Eastwatch hung over him like a pall.

Turning to face the fire, Jon closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the stone mantle, wondering vaguely what Daenerys was doing at that moment. He missed her counsel, her presence, how invigorated he felt when he was near her. He could've used a dose of all those things on this morning.

The ancient wooden door at the far end of the hall burst open suddenly, rousing the King from his daydreaming. Arya rushed into the cavernous space, Gendry trailing close after her.

She didn't look happy, his little sister all grown up, as Jon turned from the fire to face her and she charged across the long hall towards him.

Still, Jon smiled at her, relishing just the sight of her, trying again to accustom himself to the changes the years apart had wrought on the now-grown young woman he'd known only a child.

"Breakfast?" he offered her with a wide smile.

Jon gestured to the heavy-laden covered platter the cook had left behind on the serving table. He couldn't remember the last family breakfast they'd shared together, back before he'd left for the Night's Watch and everything had gone sideways. To his dismay, Arya ignored his offer.

"Why'd you let me sleep so long?" she asked him in an annoyed tone, stopping six feet short of where Jon stood near the fire. Gendry came to a dead stop a foot behind her.

"You needed the rest. You were dead in my arms last night."

The evening before, fresh from the raid in the forest, Jon had carried his semi-conscious little sister to her chamber, tucking her in and kissing her forehead just as he'd done many times when they were only children. He'd left her sprawled out on her back, sleeping as peacefully as she had when she'd been knee high and tuckered out from following him around the castle all day.

Now she was wide awake and looking at him with a fierceness that far exceeded the childhood feistiness he remembered in her. A fierceness that was beginning to trouble him.

"I'm not a little girl, Jon."

"Yes.. We've been over that."

Arya frowned and changed the subject.

"So?" she asked him expectantly, something _dark_ flashing in her eyes.

"'So _what_ , Arya?" Jon asked cautiously.

"So, _what_ are you going to do about Cersei Lannister sending a dozen armed men to kill you?" she asked as though it were obvious, her eyes blazing with that same dark fire.

Her expression was intense, and she took two steps towards him as she spoke. Gendry glanced sideways at her with what looked like concern, then shadowed her movement.

Jon's eyes moved appraisingly back and forth between Arya and his new friend, Davos' blacksmith.

They seemed to be a _unit_ already of sorts, his youngest sister and King Robert's son. He'd noticed it in the forest the day before, the easy intimacy between them, the way they gravitated to each other's side, as though they hadn't recently spent years apart.

It had been in the way they'd spoken to each other, too, in those turbulent moments when Jon had first arrived in the castle yard - a familiarity and ease between them born of deep connection. Like that invisible thread connecting couples or amongst family. Jon remained at a loss as to just _what_ sort of attachment might apply in this case.

He'd taken Gendry at his word there was nothing going on between the two of them a brother would object to. And with everything else demanding his attention, Jon reckoned he'd have to worry about _whatever it was_ between them later.

He looked at his sister squarely. "The Lannisters didn't send them, Arya. They were kin to the Freys."

Arya physically started, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

"The Freys are all dead!" she insisted, a high pitch to her voice.

"Not quite," her brother replied, leaning against the table. Feeling a headache coming on, Jon rubbed his temple absently. Just what he needed. "One of our men recognized three of them when they were burying the dead this morning," he said wearily. "They were cousins to the Freys."

"That explains why they were rubbish fighters!" Gendry exclaimed. "Inbred morons," he added scornfully, under his breath.

Next to him, Arya stood silently, her face gone white, her brother noticed with concern.

"They could have killed you, Jon," she said suddenly in a small voice.

"Not unless six of them accidentally fell on him as they were dying," Gendry interjected with unconcealed contempt for the men.

Jon smiled broadly at the younger man. It was impossible not to like him, the blunt young smithy from Flea Bottom.

He was a hard worker, a competent fighter, plain spoken, honest, and decent in his conversation and behavior, at least as far as Jon could tell. In short, he was everything Jon valued in a man.

"Tell me what you _really_ think of them," Jon said to him, still smiling. The smithy grinned at him.

A few feet from Gendry, Arya was staring at her boots, looking somber. Jon's brow furrowed in concern. She looked _stricken_.

Across a snowy clearing only the day before, he'd watched his little sister slice open a man's throat as effortlessly and casually as if she were slicing through a loaf of bread.

He'd yet to get to the bottom of _that_ mystery, much less this new worry. She wasn't a little girl just playing at war anymore; That much was clear.

"How goes it, little wolf?" he called out to her.

Arya looked up at him but didn't reply. Without a word, she turned on her heel, walked the thirty feet across the stone floor, and abruptly left the hall, the heavy door thundering shut behind her.

Mystified, Jon turned to Gendry. "What was that about?"

"You're asking _me_?"

"You seem to know her quite well."

Gendry's face went red. "I don't.. actually," he stammered.

Jon shook his head. "That's not what I meant," he said emphatically. It wasn't. "We've been over that already, right?"

Gendry nodded, looking more at ease.

"You're her friend."

"Yes."

Jon waited expectantly.

"I have no idea what's in her head right now if that's what you're asking," Gendry said after a slight pause.

Jon nodded thoughtfully.

"I could ask her if you like," Gendry added helpfully.

"Do you think she'd tell you?"

Gendry paused. "No."

Jon chuckled. "Wonderful." The two men smiled at each other.

"I'll go speak to her myself," Jon said.

"That's a good idea, Your Grace. Your sister spoke of you often. I'm sure she missed you."

"Well, I've certainly missed her."

Jon turned to the table and removed two sausages from his abandoned breakfast plate, wrapping them carefully in a cloth napkin and tucking them into the leather satchel at his waist. He'd be of no use to anyone if he neglected to eat.

"How do you find your quarters?" he asked Gendry as he tended to the sausages.

"Very comfortable, Your Grace. Thank you."

"Well, we're glad to have you here."

"I'm glad to be here."

Jon smiled to himself as he moved from the table. _My sister seems glad of that as well_.

"And the forge?" Jon asked as he moved across the hall, Gendry following him.

"As well equipped as any I've worked in."

"Good to hear."

"They're unloading the obsidian now."

"So you'll get started soon?"

"Within the hour, Your Grace."

"Wonderful."

When he reached the door, Jon paused and turned to the younger man. "I saw what you did for my sister yesterday. When her back was turned. In the wood."

Gendry nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

"Thank you," Jon said with as much sincerity as he could muster.

Gendry smiled. "I did say I'd watch her back."

Jon smiled, too. "Well, I'm very glad you did."

"I am, too."

Jon sighed as he reached for the brass door pull. "She thinks she's indestructible, Arya."

"She usually is." Gendry's voice was full of affection.

Jon smiled. "True enough," he conceded, grasping the heavy pull. A loud rap from the other side of the door startled him.

"Yes?" he asked, pulling the door open wide to reveal an equally startled Podrick standing on the other side of it. The squire glanced around the hall expectantly as though looking for someone, then frowned slightly.

"What is it, Podrick?"

The younger man held out a tiny sealed scroll. "There's been a raven from Dragonstone, Your Grace."

Jon smiled from ear to ear, certain the raven would bear the news he wanted, that of Daenerys' soon return. He reached for the scroll.

"Also-" Podrick added as he handed it over.

"Yes?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister is at the gate. He wishes to speak with you."

* * *

 **A/N** : Many thanks for all the follows, faves, and reviews. They're appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

Brienne moved swiftly along the balcony ringing the castle yard, sidestepping a crate of chickens, six bags of grain, and Maester Wolkan as she walked.

There was urgency in her gait, a mounting tension permeating her body she could feel heavily in her chest and shoulders. This might be her last opportunity to spar with the girl before the battle was joined.

Everything was moving more quickly now. The latest reports had put the wights well south of Eastwatch and moving relentlessly towards the Dreadfort, an ever-growing army of frozen dead now 400 miles north and east of Winterfell.

The forge smoked and glowed with activity night and day. The King's gathered armies would be taking the fight north once sufficient quantities of the obsidian-tipped weapons had been crafted.

As Brienne moved along the wooden walkway of the balcony, she glanced briefly into each room she passed, hoping to catch sight of Lady Catelyn's younger daughter. Snatches of an impassioned conversation in a chamber she was passing drifted her way.

"Let me come with you on Rhaegal."

"You've no experience at flying, Jon. I do."

Brienne quickened her pace and fixed her gaze straight ahead, embarrassed to be overhearing a clearly private conversation.

"Dany-"

"The North needs its King, Jon. Every living soul in Westeros needs you."

As she passed, Brienne offered a silent prayer over the mission she knew was scheduled for that evening.

Despite King Jon's vocal reservations, the Mad King's daughter would be taking a moonlit trip overnight aboard Drogon in an attempt to thin out the ranks of the dead, to slow them down. The whereabouts of the Night King and _his_ dragon remained unknown, and tension gripped both the castle and its King.

Brienne forced her thoughts back to the task at hand and smiled broadly with relief when she saw Lady Catelyn's elder daughter emerge onto the walkway twenty feet ahead of her.

"Lady Sansa!" she exclaimed.

The younger woman turned and moved towards her, wearing the same grim expression she had for days.

The castle was beginning to fill up with refugees fleeing Last Hearth, Karhold, and other northerly holdfasts. The responsibility for so many lives was weighing heavily on Winterfell's lady.

"What is it, Brienne?" the younger woman asked, looking distracted.

"I was looking for your sister, my lady," Brienne replied as she reached her. "I thought we might spar today."

Lady Sansa's expression softened somewhat.

"Have you checked the forge?" she asked with a trace of a smile. Brienne was surprised to hear a hint of amusement in her voice.

"I haven't."

"Well, she's there most days. When she isn't training everyone."

"Is Lady Arya interested in smithing?"

The faint smile Lady Sansa wore expanded into a full-blown grin. It was the first time Brienne had seen her smile in nearly a week.

"Something like that," she replied.

* * *

~0~

* * *

Arya reclined comfortably against the stone wall adjacent to the hearth, her feet dangling a foot off the floor. Her eyes half closed, she soaked in the heat emanating from the hot-burning fire of the forge.

Winter had come, and the castle always felt cold to her. Only in the forge was she able to rid herself of the persistent chill. Whether it was the heat of the fire or the company that warmed her more she could never quite tell.

Immediately across from where Arya sat, Gendry turned from a metal table heavy laden with weapons with a glittering sword in his hand. Sharpened dragonglass formed the edge of its blade as well as the weapon's elongated tip.

Arya took an enormous bite from a muffin she'd pocketed at breakfast and looked on contentedly as she chewed while the smith thrust and parried awkwardly with the sword.

After a half-dozen maneuvers, Gendry looked over at her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"What?"

"Sideface, remember?"

Gendry smirked and extended the sword to her. "Show me yourself you know so much."

Arya frowned slightly, reluctant to leave the comfort of her perch. She'd spent the morning training young Karstarks and Umbers and would be taking on Podrick and a half-dozen other middling swordsmen after lunch.

Gendry's smirk grew more pronounced as she hesitated. "You'll train everyone in the castle except me?"

"You're skilled with your hammer, Gendry."

"My hammer can't kill wights."

"Then fix it so it can."

"And if I can't work out how to do that in time?"

He was baiting her a little, and she knew it, but he also had a point. "Alright," she conceded, sliding off the stone counter.

She held out her half-eaten muffin towards him. Gendry looked at her quizzically.

"Hold my muffin," she instructed.

"I'm hungry. I might eat it."

"I'll risk it."

Arya slapped the muffin into his waiting hand and was reaching for Needle when Gendry interrupted her.

"Not with Needle. Let's see you do your thing with a _real_ sword." The blacksmith extended the glimmering weapon as he spoke.

"Needle _is_ a real sword," she said drily, knowing better than to take his light teasing to heart.

"It worked well enough in the wood last week. I'll give you that."

Arya stepped closer and took hold of the cool smooth hilt of the sword, her hand lightly brushing Gendry's as she did. She flushed involuntarily at the skin-to-skin contact.

Her face felt hot as she took the sword fully in hand, but she didn't back away from him. Avoiding Gendry's eyes, she pretended to inspect the weapon hoping he wouldn't notice her complexion.

"It's heavier than I thought it would be," she murmured as she lifted the sword slightly off the ground.

"It's big as you."

She was standing so close to him, she realized. The closest she'd been to him since the morning of his arrival at Winterfell, when in her shock and elation she'd launched herself into his arms.

As Gendry's gaze remained on the weapon, Arya glanced sideways at him, taking in the deep blueness of his eyes, the light stubble on his chin. For a few fleeting seconds she thought she might run her fingertips over the short black hairs along his jawline, but she recovered herself in time and resisted the impulse.

It was a sweet kind of torture, being so close to him. He was _inches_ away from her, neither of them making any move to back away.

"No using two hands to pick it up now," Gendry teased, still looking at the sword.

Arya smiled, forcing her gaze away from his face. "Very funny," she said cutting her eyes at him. Reluctantly, she took a half step back so she could raise the sword fully.

"Lady Arya?"

Arya's head whipped around in surprise at the interruption. Brienne stood silently in the doorway of the forge. Something in the lady knight's expression made Arya's face go even hotter.

Self conscious suddenly, she took a full step back from Gendry and turned to face Brienne.

"Brienne, have you met Gendry?" Arya said quickly.

She marveled at how even her voice sounded, when her face still felt white hot.

"I haven't," Brienne replied. There was open curiosity and a trace of amusement in the lady knight's expression.

"This is Brienne of Tarth, Gendry. She's pledged to Sansa and me."

"Nice to meet you, m'lady," the smith said respectfully. "You must be that big lady Tormund speaks of."

Brienne stared wordlessly at the young smithy in surprise as Arya nearly laughed out loud at his blunt statement, her tension evaporating. _He really is a moron_.

Gendry's face went red as he realized his mistake. "I didn't mean any offense, m'lady," he added quickly.

"None taken," Brienne replied graciously, smiling at the embarrassed young man. She turned to Arya.

"I was thinking we might train today, my lady."

"Were you?" Arya replied, sounding less than enthused.

She glanced sideways at Gendry, who was pretending not to listen while absently wiping his soot-stained hands on an old rag he kept close to the forge.

"We may not get many more chances to spar," Brienne said pointedly.

Arya hesitated, again looking over at Gendry. _I'd really rather stay here_.

"Train her with this," the smith said suddenly, taking hold of the weapon still clasped in her hand and thrusting it forward, along with the hand holding it. Arya tried not to react to his touch.

"I'm training with Needle," she said to him, pulling free of his grip.

"And if something happens to Needle?"

"Nothing's going to happen to my sword."

"You don't know that. What if you have to use a regular sword?"

"I have my dagger."

"Which can't kill at a distance."

Arya hesitated. She'd never trained with any sword other than Needle and truthfully didn't want to. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Brienne watching their interaction closely. She felt her blush returning.

"Needle can't kill wights. This sword can," Gendry added pointedly.

She sighed, resigned. "You have a point," she conceded.

"It happens sometimes."

Arya smiled despite herself, and Gendry smiled back at her, looking pleased by her acquiescence.

She held her hand out to him, palm up.

"What?"

"My muffin."

Reluctantly, he slapped it into her palm. "And here I thought I might have a snack."

Arya grinned. "I'll have cook bring you some lunch."

"Thanks."

Arya turned towards the doorway, the obsidian sword in hand, to discover Lady Brienne grinning openly at her. She looked away, the heat in her cheeks again rising.

"Your knight friend, the lady, can carry that sword for you if it's too heavy," Gendry called after her, as she walked towards the door.

"Perhaps I'll use it on you when I return," she called back over her shoulder at him.

"We'll see," Gendry replied, smiling broadly as he turned to stoke the fire.

 _He's flirting with me._

The realization hit Arya like a thunderclap, her gait going a little wobbly. Avoiding Brienne's eyes, she brushed past the big lady and emerged into the chill of the castle yard smiling.


End file.
